Sunday, February 22

My box of one-way mirrors. I can see out, but they can't see in. All they can see is a reflection of themselves, fat or thin. They strike a pose and smile,
and pick at their teeth for awhile. They don't know I'm here, having to live through a life that isn't my own. Wishing for a brick to shatter my cubic home. The glass would break and fall, scraching scars in me, but it wouldn't matter because I'd finally be free. But then people would be able to see the differences in me. Is that what I really want? Just to be another subject for people to taunt?

Not about me, although its written in first person.
Don't be the one too afraid to fall, that lives life like watching TV.

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